


"We Are Friends Now.": How Apollo's Character Development Shapes the Future of the Riordanverse

by eleu, Keyseeker



Series: ToA analysis [10]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Character Analysis, Especially with the character development, Gen, Just how Apollo's whole story is crafted, Meta, Ok seriously this is an amazing series, There is a LOT to go over., like wow, not fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleu/pseuds/eleu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keyseeker/pseuds/Keyseeker
Summary: Tear off all his masks, take away all his disguises, and there he is. The real Apollo. He is the literal personification of sunshine. We finally see it too, in a thousand ways, big and small. The way he cares. The way he sees everyone, even and especially those who are overlooked. The joy it gives him to just be able to help, to make people happy. How encouraging he is. How proud of everyone. He can’t stop telling them how talented and wonderful they are. He’s determined to do everything in his power to propel them forward, to give them the boost they need to reach greatness. He’s living up to his most famous epithet, a bright light to illuminate his friends, to keep them warm, burning hot enough to scorch anyone who’d dare try snuff it out and plunge the world around them into darkness again.
Series: ToA analysis [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799089
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	"We Are Friends Now.": How Apollo's Character Development Shapes the Future of the Riordanverse

**Author's Note:**

> Eleu was responsible for most of the actual text of this, though I did help with assembling the skeleton of it from our previous screamings about all the hidden depths of the series, of Apollo's development, and with editing. She's an AMAZING meta writer, and I'm so, so glad she's joined me in writing meta for Trials Of Apollo, in digging into the series! I've always loved her meta and just... this is spectacular. Even with as deeply as I've delved into the series the past few years, she keeps on finding new aspects to explore, or old aspects to look into more deeply. Hope everyone else enjoys this as well! - Keyseeker
> 
> I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Keyseeker, in every sense of the word. She has incredible instincts and skill for literary analysis, and her passion is infectious. I can't thank her enough for her kindness, her warmth, her encouragement, and her help. She's a bit of a sun goddess in her own right. We are lucky to have her! - Eleu

Despite Apollo’s triumph, the end of the series is permeated with a deep melancholy. 

Before bidding us the final goodbye, Apollo invites us to follow him one last time as he goes back to visit all the friends he’s made along the way. He chooses to meet them not as the freshly restored sun god who saved the world and reforged himself from the verge of Chaos, but as Lester Papadopoulos, the mortal teenager who ate and slept and sang and laughed and fought by their side, who was one of them. He wants to meet them as an equal, or at least… as close to an equal as he can make himself to them now. Because that’s the bittersweet truth. He is not one of them. They are not equals. No matter how much Apollo wishes otherwise.

The memories of that experience, the truths he's discovered at the end of that journey are with him forever now. But Lester, the guy who was a true peer to the demigods and humans, who struggled and bled alongside them... all that's left of him now is a memory. All the scars and imperfections that Apollo has grown to appreciate so much... the utterly unremarkable body he now feels at home in… require a constant conscious effort on his part to be maintained. They have become – it would be unfair to say a mask. They are more than another costume, another act in Apollo’s repertoire. What they represent is real. His love for his newfound friends and family. His resolve to do right by them. But Lester Papadopoulos is not a real person anymore. He’s become a symbol. A declaration of Apollo’s intent. 

Judging by the euphoric welcome of the demigods at Camp Half Blood, they understand. Unlike the romans, the greeks had never really taken to call him Lester. But it’s Lester’s name they are chanting when they swarm him to hug him at the end. They know what it means that he came back to them wearing the same face he did when they became friends.

“I won’t forget,” he tells Piper. “The memory is part of me now.” And it’s significant that he ends up having this conversation with her not as Lester, but as the brilliant god of light. From an in-universe perspective, this is by pure accident. He gets distracted for an instant and loses hold of his mortal guise. But from a narrative standpoint the reason is clear. It's the god who needs to remember the promise he made to Jason. And Piper's approval and faith in Apollo mean so much more given to the god, rather than the fac simile of a human. 

Because that’s who Apollo really is. Not an average mortal human, but a brilliant, golden god.

On the surface, this might seem a rather dreary conclusion. After everything Apollo’s gone through, after all the effort he made to learn and grow and make himself better, he’s back to the start? Is it true then, that gods cannot change?

The answer is no, of course. Gods can and do change, same as any human. 

Apollo is back to the start, back to being a god, radiant and powerful, not because that’s what he was born as, but because that’s who he CHOSE TO BE. That’s the choice he made again and again, all throughout his journey, starting from the moment he found himself sitting at the ‘Apollo’ table at Camp Half Blood surrounded by his sons and daughter, thinking “a father should give more to his children than he takes”, and promised to both them and himself that he would get stronger.

It’s a choice that came at a price, and Apollo has always known this. He won’t get to grow old with his family, with his friends. He’ll watch them grow and live and age while he remains shiny and golden and immortal, and then one day he’ll lose them, like he lost all the people before them. He’s been through this already. He knew what he was signing up for. He did it anyway.

He did it after he’d finally stopped thinking of “god” as a valuable title in itself, and about nigh omnipotence as a comfort blanket under which to hide his weakness. He did it after he’d completely stopped caring about immortality as a last defense against the terrifying finality of death and of having to own up to his own choices. He did it because he needed – because he WANTED the power to keep his promises. The power to protect people. The power to help those in need. The power to vanquish monsters, be they supernatural horrors or simple human beings. 

The power that had always been rightfully his, and that he finally knows how to put to good use.

> What had he asked me earlier…?  _ Are you worthy of being a god? _
> 
> That was the central question. He believed he made a better deity than I did. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps neither of us was worthy. There was one way to find out. If I couldn’t destroy the fasces myself, maybe with a little godly help…
> 
> “Get out of the way!” I told Lu and Rachel.
> 
> They glanced back at me like I was crazy.
> 
> “RUN!” I told them.
> 
> They broke to either side just before Nero would have plowed through them.
> 
> The emperor stopped in front of me, his eyes flickering with power.
> 
> “You lose,” he said. “Give it to me.”
> 
> “Take it if you can.” (TON 316)

This final exchange with Nero spells it out as clearly as if it were written in fire. Throughout his long life, Apollo was always comparing himself to other people – to worse people – than he is. Feeling like they were better than him because they didn't care. They didn't doubt. They didn't regret. Because they would trample over their peers and over their subjects as if they were ants. Because they were  _ so convinced _ that they were worthy, when Apollo really never was sure to be.

But now Apollo has accepted the truth. He knows he's unworthy. He and the whole rest of the gods. They are all far too human and fallible to deserve the kind of power they have. And yet, they do have it. So it doesn't matter if it’s deserved. It doesn’t matter if Apollo’s earned the right to it. The only thing that matters is saving all the people whose lives depend on him. 

He baits Nero into this tug of war over the fascio, and it works, because Nero still cares about besting Apollo, he is still secretly desperate to prove his own superiority. How could he not be? That's the only justification he has for treating other people like dirt. But Apollo doesn't care about proving anything anymore. He actually fully expects Nero to be stronger than him. He’s fine with it. Nero can be the winner of this dick measuring contest, as long as he is stopped from doing any more harm.

> “You—cannot—take—it, Lester!” Nero said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might.
> 
> “I am Apollo,” I said, tugging the other direction. “God of the sun. And I—revoke—your—divinity!” (TON 317)

Nero calls him "Lester" in a last hopeless attempt to position himself above Apollo, but when Apollo replies, he is not bragging. He is just stating a fact. This is who he is. He is someone who has the power to stop people like Nero. He is someone who has the power to save lives. And it's time he starts owning it.

So what does this mean for the ending? Apollo is back on Olympus, back in his seat of power. Back to biting his tongue in front of his father. Back to being constrained by the same old senseless, toxic rules about whether he’s allowed to help, whom he’s allowed to help, and when, and under which extremely specific set of circumstances, that he was already chafing under at the beginning of this tale. He looks at the other gods, his family, and sees strangers. He feels like an impostor in his own skin. He is right back where he started. 

But is he really?

> Something else struck me about Zeus’s statement. He had said it  _ appeared _ my fix was permanent. That implied Zeus wasn’t sure. I suspected that when I fell to the edge of Chaos, Zeus had not been able to watch. There were limits to even  _ his _ far sight. He did not know exactly what had happened, how I had defeated Python, how I’d come back from the brink. I caught a look from Athena, who nodded almost imperceptibly. (TON 366)

Zeus has NO IDEA how Apollo managed to survive Chaos and make himself a god again. It was not Zeus' doing at all. it was completely beyond Zeus' control. 

This punishment that Zeus inflicted on his son, it was meant to send a message. It was meant to be a reminder to Apollo, and to every other member of the Council, that all of their power ultimately belongs to their Lord and Father. That their immortality, their very existence, is Zeus’ to take, and Zeus’ to give back, if and when he sees fit.

But it backfired. Badly. 

Apollo took back what his father had stolen from him, all on his own, without waiting for Zeus’s permission. And now, for the first time, Zeus is truly afraid. 

This is both a new and an old feeling for the father of the gods. Zeus has always lived in fear that one of his sons would dethrone him and render him obsolete, like he did to his father, like his father did to his grandfather. And as many sons Zeus has managed to produce anyway in spite of this fear... Apollo really is the only one who fits all the requirements to fulfill this role. All the other viable candidates, Zeus has made sure would never be born. That’s how Achilles came to be. Athena too. That’s what they are. Averted threats. 

Apollo was always Zeus's biggest mistake. And Zeus has been aware of this since forever. 

It’s enough to give one pause. To make one wonder. If Zeus didn't truly, intentionally plan to send Apollo to his death when he engineered this latest ordeal for him. 

His appearance in Apollo’s vision of the Olympus throne room lends credence to this theory:

> “Stop,” Zeus rumbled. He was dressed in a somber black three-piece suit, as if on his way to my funeral. His shaggy black beard was freshly combed and oiled. His eyes flickered with subdued lightning. He almost looked concerned for my situation. 
> 
> Then again, he was as good an actor as Nero.
> 
> “We must wait for the final battle,” he announced. “The worst is yet to come.”
> 
> “Hasn’t he proved himself already?” Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even  _ you _ could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!”
> 
> Zeus glowered. “You do not understand all the forces at work here, Daughter. Apollo  _ must _ face the final challenge, for all our sakes.” (TON 319)

Zeus is the one who insisted on enacting this punishment, yet he’s deriving no satisfaction from it. He is the one who puts a stop to the betting pool nonsense. He, more than anyone in the scene except maybe Hera, seems to be grieving. Apollo notes he is basically dressed for a funeral. His son’s funeral.

And it seems like he knows – or at least thinks he knows – more than any of the others what’s truly at stake here. “You do not understand all the forces at work” he says. Later, after Apollo’s victory, he will comment that “the Fates are once again able to spin their thread without encumbrance.” Apollo will take note of this, belatedly realizing just  _ how much _ was riding on his success against Python.

The Fates were circling Apollo’s head that day at the Parthenon, when he presented himself to Zeus’ judgement and was sentenced to his punishment. They must have known the final outcome of this. They may have wanted it, in fact. But clearly, they withheld some crucial information from the Lord of Olympus. 

Zeus knew his son would face death. He did not know he would emerge victorious on the other side of it. 

What did the Fates tell him? That this was necessary for all of their survival? That the gods would flourish thanks to Apollo’s sacrifice? Did they omit to mention also, that Apollo’s sacrifice would not kill him? That he would in fact be back, more powerful than ever, and that for Zeus, this would be the beginning of the end?

It seems clear that Zeus expected Apollo to die. He had no intention to help him. He’d dressed all in black, put on an appropriately somber air. It might have been all an act. Apollo calls him a consummate actor, and we can trust his word on this. It takes one to know one. But it’s possible Zeus truly felt some measure of remorse. It’s possible he felt genuine pain as he prepared to witness his son exhale his last breath. Yet he was still willing to do it. He’d made his choice. 

And like it was for his father and grandfather before him... this is the choice that will be his undoing. This moment. The moment he decided he valued his own power more than his son's life. Is the moment Zeus finally signed his downfall.

Because something HAS changed.

That last council scene at the end of TON is undeniable proof of it. We look at it from Apollo’s point of view, and we are made privy to all of his insecurities, all of his doubts, all the self deprecating jokes and the tangents he goes off on as usual. It’s almost enough to obfuscate the fact that, from the moment he walks in to the moments he leaves Zeus behind (literally and metaphorically), Apollo completely owns the room.

He’s just come out on the other side of one of the most humiliating experiences imaginable, but he acknowledges all of it unflinchingly, and it’s the others who are unable to hold his gaze. Within seconds of him sitting down among them, everybody’s squirming and feeling like they need to apologize. And they do, or at least they attempt to, but he has no interest in their apologies. He cuts through Ares’ clumsy congratulations to nail him on having lost the pot, but it’s almost an afterthought. He’s more surprised to learn Athena has won.

Then he just invites them to say what’s on their mind. Leaves them to scramble once again in the attempt to fill in the silence. To cover up their embarrassment, or fail to do so.

This was supposed to be the game they’d play at his expenses, and he’s turned it back on them so thoroughly they don’t know what to do anymore. 

For the first time in who knows how long, possibly forever, Apollo faces the assembly upfront. No sunglasses, no earpods. No pretenses. No posturing. He even makes a point of discarding the laurels Artemis has put on his head moments before. He’s done hiding behind masks. 

He looks each of the other gods in the eyes, forces them to see him, and to realize that HE sees each of THEM. 

Then he brings up the betting pool. First thing he says to the non-Zeus council members. 

As it has become clear in the course of these 5 books, is his trademark, he takes all of their weapons and discharges them before they have time to do it themselves, leaving them with nothing. 

He’s the one who was made mortal and almost died, and yet, now none of their standings seems as solid as his. Not even Zeus’s.

Apollo is the one who guides the conversation all throughout. He’s putting the pieces of what he hasn’t been told together as they go, yet he doesn’t miss a beat, he understands everything the other gods say and don’t say.

He plays the part of the dutiful, obedient son perfectly, in a way that truly can’t be contested but also very clearly is… role play. 

Several of the others, including Hera… actually search for his sympathy.

Athena keeps her focus on him the entire time. She immediately catches the moment he realizes that Zeus truly has no idea how Apollo managed to restore himself to power, and she discreetly makes sure Apollo knows that she knows that he knows. Out of everybody there, she alone had bet on his victory. It seems like she had never been fooled by Apollo's vapid blonde act. She knows how intelligent he is. She expects his mind to work like hers. 

The contrast between this scene and the last time we saw Apollo stand before his father is STAGGERING. He was a scared little kid, then. Literally. He’d made himself smaller and vulnerable in a show of submissiveness, not really hoping but still pleading, begging for mercy in all but words.

Now Zeus is the one hunching in on himself, making nervous little gestures like coughing into his fist, silently asking for something Apollo has no intention of giving him. And Apollo, not Zeus, is the one who decides the conversation between the two of them is over.

> I nodded. “I understand, Father.”
> 
> Zeus seemed to understand that what  _ I _ understood was not perhaps the same thing  _ he _ understood, but he accepted the gesture, I suppose because he had little choice.
> 
> “Very well. So…welcome home.”
> 
> I rose from my throne. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
> 
> I dissolved into golden light. There were several other places I’d rather be, and I intended to visit them all. (TON 368)

They are both seated as they have their little heart to heart, maintaining the illusion that they are speaking as equals, but Apollo is the only one who rises at the end.

Zeus was clearly hoping to get some kind of absolution from Apollo there. He was fishing for it. Is his conscience gnawing at him? Does he regret at least a little bit to have put his son through all that pain… to have wanted him dead? Hard to say. Maybe it’s just fear. The same old fear under whose shadow the King of the Gods has lived for the biggest part of his existence, rearing its ugly head again, now more terrifying than ever because Zeus finally knows for a fact that he has lost the ability to control Apollo. That maybe he never really had it in the first place.

Apollo doesn’t offer reassurance. He does not rush to unburden Zeus of his guilt. He doesn’t say anything. There's nothing Zeus can give him at this point, that will miraculously make up for everything Zeus has done, and there's nothing Apollo is willing to give Zeus anymore. A father should give more to his children than he takes. Zeus is not the exception. Apollo has finally accepted it. He's truly, finally free. Well, as free as he can be.

He still has to keep up the pretense of cordiality. He still can’t openly challenge Zeus’ authority, can’t openly defy his dictates. At least, that’s what he believes. 

The truth is, the power balance within the Council has started to shift. Hera looks to Apollo for support now. Athena silently acknowledges him as her equal. Dionysus dares speak in his favor, even though he tries to pass that off as self interest. And Apollo himself… despite having had virtually no time to get back his bearings, despite how far removed from the others, from all this he feels, how much he wishes to be elsewhere, he comes off as if he belongs more than anybody else in there:

> “I am satisfied,” Zeus pronounced.
> 
> The gods let out a collective sigh. As much as we pretended to be a council of twelve, in truth we were a tyranny. Zeus was less a benevolent father and more an iron-fisted leader with the biggest weapons and the ability to strip us of our immortality if we offended him.
> 
> Somehow, though, I didn’t feel relieved to be off Zeus’s hook. In fact, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
> 
> “Super,” I said. (TON 366-367)

Apollo doesn’t seem to have noticed yet, at least not consciously, but something has fundamentally changed in the way he regards his father. He’s stopped being afraid. He’s walking the razor thin line between polite respectfulness and polite mockery for the whole duration of the meeting. He stops himself from rolling his eyes, and immediately after delivers a reply so thick with sarcasm it could be cut with a knife. He doesn’t feel relief at the thought of being off Zeus’ hook. 

And why would he? What is Zeus going to do? Make him mortal again? 

At this point, Apollo wouldn’t even mind being mortal for another six months or so. The mortals are his friends and his allies. They are his family. There’s no shame in being one of them. As a mortal, Apollo won’t ever be alone. And even if he is? He’s been on the edge of nonexistence twice now, and kept himself alive, returned, out of sheer willpower. He can do it again. He will, if he has to. There’s nothing Zeus can do to him now, that he hasn’t already survived and come back from. 

In fact… would Zeus even be capable of taking Apollo’s power away at this point? Apollo hasn’t had time to ask himself that question yet, but Zeus has. Two weeks. And Zeus isn’t stupid. Even if he could, even if he found another way to strip his son of his divine spark… what guarantee does Zeus have, that Apollo won’t just take it back again? Apollo himself is not sure how he managed that miracle, but Zeus  _ doesn’t know that _ . And he can’t ask, because that would be admitting that he’s lost control of the situation. That he’s lost control of Apollo. That he’s not all powerful and all knowing anymore. That he made a mistake. 

So he watches his son enter the council room and take back his old seat. He tries to force his worried grimace into a passable semblance of a smile. And he lies. He offers congratulations. He declares all has gone according to his plan. He takes the credit. He pretends everything is fine. 

He knows full well now, that he has lost his biggest weapon: fear. Apollo is free from it, while Zeus is ever more controlled by it. Zeus has already lost in every way that matters. His best bet from here onward is to keep up the pretense, and hope that Apollo doesn’t challenge him.

It’s true, the other gods are still very much afraid. And some of them seem pretty determined to continue being oblivious dicks. But some of them sensed the change. Some of them understood. Some of them were explicitly looking to Apollo for strength. Apollo saw it. 

He’s never been blind to their faults, even as he pretended to be, and now he has no reason to pretend anymore. He knows who they are. He knows how selfish and cruel and weak they can be. How human. He notices how uncomfortable Hephaestus always seems to be. He understands Hermes’ nervous restlessness. He sees that Hera is on the verge of a breakdown for multiple reasons – reasons that he can sympathize with, even though he doesn't feel ready to warm up to her quite yet. He feels Athena’s gaze, laser focussed on him. He sees that Dionysus is lonely. 

As horrible as they can be, none of them are irredeemable. Apollo certainly doesn’t think so. How could he? He is one of them. 

If he could make his own fate... then so can they. 

> “You will have your happy ending, Brother,” I told Dionysus.
> 
> He studied me. “You speak as the god of prophecy?”
> 
> “No.” I smiled. “Just as someone with faith.”
> 
> “Surely not faith in our father’s wisdom.”
> 
> I laughed. “Faith in our ability to write our own stories, regardless of what the Fates throw at us. Faith that you will find a way to make wine out of your sour grapes.”
> 
> “How deep,” Dionysus muttered, though I detected a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. He gestured to his game table. “Pinochle, perhaps? At that, at least, I know I can dominate you.”
> 
> I stayed with him that afternoon, and he won six games. He only cheated a little. (TON 373-374)

Apollo spends more of his visit to Camp Half Blood with Dionysus, keeping company, than he does with basically anyone else. As happy as the kids are to see him, they also have their own things to attend to. But Dionysus... his days are so empty. He has no one to talk to. No one he will allow himself to talk to, at least. There’s no doubt that he’s partly responsible for his own misery. He  _ could  _ make friends with the demigods, if he wanted. But he’s a stubborn idiot. Apollo can relate to that. It doesn’t matter whether or not his brother deserves his sympathy. Whether or not he deserves his faith. Apollo gives them to him for free. He knows full well that were the roles reversed, Dionysus would not give him his. He knows because it did in fact happen, and Dionysus didn’t. Apollo gives them to him anyway. He has enough to be willing to risk wasting them on the wrong person.

But they are not wasted on his brother. 

Dionysus always liked Apollo. He had for him the childlike admiration of a little sibling, looking up to his brilliant, multi-talented, larger than life big brother who always held everybody’s attention – especially that of their father. As time passed, it seemed like those feelings had turned sour. The Dionysus that meets Apollo at the beginning of TON is an embittered, petty man who takes a perverse sort of satisfaction in contemplating how low his once resplendent big brother has sunk. The last time Dionysus looked at Apollo across the pinochle table, he thought he was looking at a dead man. Now he sees someone stronger than him in every way (except maybe card games. After all, he only cheated a little). More than that, he openly acknowledges it. There’s no resentment in Dionysus’ last line, only a quiet, pleased sort of happiness. After all this time, when he least expected it, and certainly when he least deserved it, his big brother is finally reaching out to him.

Zeus would call it weakness. For the longest time, Apollo believed him. 

But it’s not weak to reach out to those in need. To be kind and be willing to place one’s faith even and especially in the hands of those who did not earn it. That’s not weakness. It’s power. 

> “Dad!” Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug.
> 
> That’s when I lost it. I wept openly.
> 
> My beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanor. Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst. (TON 80)

All throughout the series, Apollo has been humbled and awed by his children’s kindness and generosity. By their ability and willingness to embrace him, to welcome him, to trust him, even as he felt undeserving. Now, at the start of the final book and at the end of his journey, he’s finally able to acknowledge that his children GOT THAT FROM HIM. 

It’d have been easy to keep denying it. He could have kept thinking everything that made Will and Austin and Kayla good, rather than simply talented, they owed to their other parent. But that’s not true. His children are kind, because they take after their father. 

That’s Apollo’s best quality. The thing he felt most ashamed about. The indelible mark of weakness he couldn’t rid himself of. 

It’s his willingness to give his life for his kids mere hours after death had become a real possibility for him. It’s taking a moment in the middle of a terrible afternoon to give a geyser deity full marks on his customer satisfaction survey. It’s the urge to warn the rude, irritating girl who made herself his master about the bullies targeting her. It’s realizing that the 8 year old who might very well have gotten Apollo’s children killed needs absolution and encouragement rather than reproach. It’s looking at the minions of his evil nemeses and seeing the potential for them to make different, better choices, and wanting to give them the chance to prove it. It’s looking at Meg, knowing she has betrayed him and will abandon him, and deciding that even if she lied about being his friend, that doesn’t have to mean he isn’t hers.

His kindness. HIS! It took seeing it reflected back at him in his children’s eyes, being on the receiving end of it as they, and all the humans and demigods and fauns and dryads who shared a part of his journey, gave it to him in return for his own, in return for a promise, or even for nothing. It took all of that for him to finally claim it as his with pride.

As Apollo's confidence grew with each book, and his sense of self and of what is important to him solidified, his internal narration became more and more sincere. The outrageous lies became more and more infrequent and easier to pick out, until they almost completely disappeared. More and more, he started openly doubting and worrying and wondering whether he was doing enough, whether he could do better. More and more, he started letting us see how much he cared.

But he never stopped making fun of himself, taking shots at his own dumbassery. He always made a point to highlight how out of his depth he felt, to remind us he was as clueless as everybody around him.

Listening to him, it’s hard to believe he knows what he’s doing. It’s hard to be wowed by his courage, his resilience, his determination when he keeps reminding us of how constantly terrified and on the verge of a breakdown he is. He really does everything he can to make it as difficult as possible for us to find ourselves staring in awe at the magnitude of what he managed to accomplish, starting from basically nothing. He makes sure to undercut himself any chance he gets.

Despite his protestations from the very beginning of this tale, Apollo doesn’t want us to seriously think of him as someone inspiring, charismatic, heroic. He doesn’t like to think of himself that way. Heroes are larger than life, bigger than the people they serve. Apollo doesn’t want to be above, he wants to be with us.

But we see the effect he has on everybody around him, the more he lets his real self, his kindness, his warmth, his enthusiastic love of people shine through. The way they all start turning to him for answers, for reassurance, for leadership, like sunflowers follow their namesake. We see the way people start trusting him... or fearing him.

Credit where credit is due, Python always knew what was up. He was always more worried about a powerless mortal Apollo than he was about anyone or anything else that might have gotten in his way.

Back at the beginning of this story, Apollo had gotten so used to wearing so many masks, so many disguises, he was hard pressed to find the truth of who he really was under there himself. How long had it been, since he’d last felt involved with anything that happened on the other side of the stage curtains, since he’d last looked at other people and really seen them as people rather than as spectators? Too long. And yet at the same time, not long enough. Never long enough.

There was always, right from the very start, this weird disconnect between what Apollo said and what he actually did. He kept insisting he was a horrible, heartless person... and then, every single one of his actions would contradict that.

His journey was never really one of discovery, but of rediscovery, which is particularly apt for a story that’s as much about redemption as it is about surviving abuse.

And as Apollo slowly recovered himself, that weird, incongruous kernel of brilliance that we bafflingly kept getting glimpses of on and off, that initially seemed so wildly out of place, started to look more and more right, more and more fitting. As if it had always been there. As if it had always been more true than anything surrounding it.

> […] Helios had supported the gods during our first war with Kronos. He had fought at our sides against the giants. He possessed a kind and generous aspect –  _ warm _ , as one would expect from the sun.
> 
> But gradually, as the Olympians gained power and fame among human worshippers, the memory of the Titans faded. Helios appeared less and less often in the halls of Mount Olympus. He became distant, angry, fierce, withering – all those  _ less _ desirable solar qualities.
> 
> Humans began to look at me – brilliant, golden and shining – and associate me with the sun. Can you blame them?
> 
> I never asked for the honour. One morning I simply woke up and found myself the master of the sun chariot, along with all my other duties. (TBM 166-167)

Apollo tells us of how he became the sun god in an offhanded, almost dismissive manner. He never planned for it. He never really even wanted it. It wasn’t really his choice. It just happened. He talks about Helios’ kindness. His generosity. His warmth. He doesn’t call himself any of those things. And yet, people saw those qualities in him. People trusted him. People started praying to him. 

It was hard to imagine, by that point in the story, that the people might have seen and chosen right.

But now, at the end of the story, suddenly it’s not hard at all. 

Tear off all his masks, take away all his disguises, and there he is. The real Apollo. He is the literal personification of sunshine. We finally see it too, in a thousand ways, big and small. The way he cares. The way he sees everyone, even and especially those who are overlooked. The joy it gives him to just be able to help, to make people happy. How encouraging he is. How proud of everyone. He can’t stop telling them how talented and wonderful they are. He’s determined to do everything in his power to propel them forward, to give them the boost they need to reach greatness. He’s living up to his most famous epithet, a bright light to illuminate his friends, to keep them warm, burning hot enough to scorch anyone who’d dare try snuff it out and plunge the world around them into darkness again.

> I remembered something Marcus Aurelius used to tell his son, a quote that later became famous in his  _ Meditations _ book:  _ Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now, take what’s left and live it properly. What doesn’t transmit light creates its own darkness. _
> 
> Commodus  _ hated _ that piece of advice. He found it suffocating, self-righteous, impossible. What was  _ proper _ ? Commodus intended to live forever. He would drive away the darkness with the roar of crowds and the glitter of spectacle.
> 
> But he generated no light.
> 
> Not like the Waystation. Marcus Aurelius would have approved of this place. Emmie and Josephine lived properly with what time they had left, creating light for everyone who came here. No wonder Commodus hated them. No wonder he was so bent on destroying this threat to his power.
> 
> And Apollo, above all, was the god of light. (TDP 370)

This is what the big turning points in the series all came down to. Apollo placing his trust and faith in people. People placing their trust and faith in him. 

Zeus rules by fear. It’s the force that has ruled his entire life. It’s all he knows. The King of the Gods is afraid of everything – most of all, of losing control. He hates what he can’t expect, what he doesn’t understand. He trusts no one. He only respects power. And he believes in power as a means to push people down. Keep them under his talon, from where they can’t even dare attempt doing anything without his express permission. From where they’ll never be able to rise to hold him accountable for all his broken oaths, all the empty promises. 

Zeus got what he wanted. He is feared by all, even his own family, even his own children. He is trusted by none.

But Apollo? Apollo never cared for any of that. He could not make himself care, no matter how hard he tried. And oh, he did try. And kept failing, over and over and over again. Apollo does not want power for power’s sake. “Power” he says, “makes good people uneasy rather than joyful or boastful.” He’s talking about Meg. About Marcus Aurelius. But really, most of all, even as he still refuses to acknowledge it, he’s talking about himself.

Who is Apollo? 

That’s the central question at the heart of the series. The question Apollo is called to answer, once and for all, when he has to decide whether to let go of that ledge on the brink of Chaos. What does Apollo want? What is it that truly matters to him? What is it that he would die for? And does it matter to him enough,  _ that he would choose instead to LIVE for it? _

Apollo is curious by nature. Strange new things excite him. He could spend years, decades, centuries figuring them out. 

He and Artemis invented archery together. He taught himself to play every musical instrument in the world, just for the fun of it. He taught himself to heal. He’d trade a lyre for a herd of prize-winning cows any day. Not knowing all the answers doesn’t scare him, it  _ delights  _ him. 

He sees the beauty in the weirdest, most unexpected things, from giant ants to sparkly pink camo pants. He sees the dignity and nobility of his mortal companions, of fauns, and pandai, and troglodytes too. He sees the value in small, seemingly unimportant things, like a child’s treasured crystal ball. 

He’s been taught to expect people’s adoration, to pretend he has it even when he doesn’t, but when he does… he doesn’t really know what to do with it. He’d rather have people’s genuine laughter. He will not miss a chance to make himself the butt of a joke if he can help it. 

He will quote with reverence a long dead philosopher-emperor who thought of the god Apollo as a fairy tale, and want to live up to the example of that honest, profoundly decent man. 

He loves deeply, fiercely, boundlessly. He wants to be friends with everybody.

And people can’t help loving him in turn, any more than they can help loving the daylight.

> “Helios,” I murmured, “your imprisonment is over. Medea is dead.”
> 
> The ichor churned and flashed. I felt the Titan’s half-conscious anger. Now that he was free, he seemed to be thinking why shouldn’t he vent his power from these tunnels and turn the countryside into a wasteland? He probably also wasn’t too happy about getting two pandai, some ragweed and his evil granddaughter dumped into his nice, fiery essence.
> 
> “You have a right to be angry,” I said. “But I remember you – your brilliance, your warmth. I remember your friendship with the gods and the mortals of the earth. I can never be as great a sun deity as you were, but every day I try to honour your memory – to remember your  _ best _ qualities.”
> 
> The ichor bubbled more rapidly.
> 
> _ I am just talking to a friend _ , I told myself.  _ This is not at all like convincing an intercontinental ballistic missile not to launch itself. _
> 
> “I will endure,” I told him. “I  _ will _ regain the sun chariot. As long as I drive it, you will be remembered. I will keep your old path across the sky steady and true. But you know, more than anyone, that the fires of the sun don’t belong on the earth. They weren’t meant to destroy the land, but to warm it! Caligula and Medea have twisted you into a weapon. Don’t allow them to win! All you have to do is  _ rest. _ Return to the ether of Chaos, my old friend. Be at peace.” (TBM 392-393)

All these arrogant immortals who wanted to crown themselves the new sun god, they went about it the violent, murderous way. But Apollo, who never sought that power, who always felt the weight of that responsibility, heavy on his shoulders, who cares about honoring the memory of his predecessor... he didn't need to even try and take it.  _ The people gave it to him. _

Apollo won’t seek to dethrone his father, not unless Zeus forces his hand. He has no plans to start a revolution.

He won’t need to.

The demigods, who now consider him one of them. All of the people who met him and helped him along the way, the satyrs, the fauns, the nature spirits who now call him friend. They have been pushing for change, for something better, well before Apollo found himself among them. Now, they will keep doing it with his support. This is what Apollo came back from the brink of Chaos for. The reason why he chose to live. The reason why he chose to reclaim his own power. So that he could lend it to THEM.

And the other gods? They are used to sneaking around behind Zeus's back. They’ve been doing it for ages. They’ll be doing it more and more, drawing strength from Apollo’s example, from his warm encouragement, from his faith in them despite everything.

The next Olympus coup won’t be a violent overthrowing. Not unless Zeus chooses to make it so. 

Knowing him? he might. But if he does, he’ll be the one to seal his own fate.

This is how the cycle repeats itself. This is how the circle closes once again. And this is where it breaks. This is the change this whole narrative universe was leading up to.

Apollo will not be king. The Council will finally, truly BE A COUNCIL. Everybody will have a seat at the table.

> I saw Jason’s face. I saw Heloise, Crest, Money Maker, Don the Faun, Dakota—all those who had sacrificed themselves to get me here. Now my last companion was ready to pay the cost for my success—to have me do the one thing it had always told me never to do.
> 
> “No,” I croaked, possibly the last word I would ever be able to speak.
> 
> “What is that?” Python asked, thinking I had spoken to him. “Does the little rat beg for mercy at the end?”
> 
> I opened my mouth, unable to answer. The monster’s face loomed closer, anxious to savor my last sweet whimpers.
> 
> _ FARE THEE WELL, FRIEND,  _ said the arrow.  _ APOLLO WILL FALL, BUT APOLLO MUST RISE AGAIN.  _ (TON 344)

Who is Apollo?

He is no ruler. He cares nothing for being above others. All he’s ever wanted, is to be their friend.

Back when he was a god, before he fell and toiled and made himself one again, back when he was still convinced an unfeeling, uncaring asshole was the person he was supposed to be, he used to pretend that Percy and Grover and all the other people he liked actually liked him back. He called them “friends" in his mind, even though he was painfully aware it wasn't true. That it wasn’t something any of those people would even have wanted. He settled for lying to himself, disregarding their actual feelings, because he didn't believe he ever could be, for real, someone they would want to consider a friend. He pushed people away, even as he tried to pull them close.

He thought he knew what was expected of him. He was sure he had it all figured out. He hated every second of it, but he did his best to play the part to perfection. But he was always too self aware to not know that even if that really was who he was supposed to be, that kind of person... was not the kind of person anyone would want as a friend.

He’d accepted it. He’d decided he would be fine, just FINE with his imaginary relationships that he had made up in his head, and people would not be able to contradict him to his face because hey, he was a GOD. if they only dared, he could incinerate them with the blink of an eye. That’s what power is for, right? That’s what power is all about.

He kept telling himself that, every day, every moment, until he could at least fool himself into thinking he actually believed it.

And then… his entire world shattered. Both the real and the imaginary one. He wasn’t a god anymore. He was, for the fist time, utterly, completely powerless. He had nothing. His threats, as empty as they had always been, carried no weight. Nobody was obligated to be nice to him. But many of them were, anyway. And many weren’t. 

He realized he had a choice. He chose to be kind to all of those people in turn. 

What was the point of hiding anymore? His weakness was already on full display. He could not have looked more pathetic than he already did, not even if he tried. So he might as well try. He might as well admit he could not stand to see people die or get hurt. Not even in his name. Especially not in his name. That he could not bear not to be able to repay these people’s kindness, to have nothing to offer in return. That he saw every single act of compassion, and bravery, and heroism, and admired them for it. That he wanted so badly to be their friend, and did not believe he deserved it, did not believe that his friendship would ever be accepted, let alone welcomed.

He kept being surprised to discover that wasn’t true. He kept failing to realize that somehow, at some point during this terrible, wonderful journey, he’d allowed himself to grow into a person good people would be happy and proud to call their friend. And he'd not done it out of selfishness. Not because he thought he'd gain anything from it. He’d done it out of love. He’d done it because that’s who he is. Who he chooses to be. Someone kind. Someone better. Someone who won’t make excuses when he makes a mistake. Who will own up to his failings. Who will own up to his victories too.

Someone who finally, at the end of this story, is comfortable declaring "we are friends now" to us, total strangers who read of his adventures, and promising we’ll have his help, because he knows, he’s confident, that he will hold up his end of the bargain. It's up to us whether we want to accept the gift he's giving us or not. He won’t force it on us. But if we do want it, here it is. We have it. 

"Call on me." he says. "I will be there for you."


End file.
